’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’ ‘Call me Dahlia.’ She said. Something about the name and the way she said it stirred a di...tant memory. I had the distinct feeling that there was more to the name, but I could not think of what it might be. Before I could chase down the errant thought, we were interrupted. ‘There you are.’ I glanced up to find a large man clad in black leather standing next to our table, looking down at my putative date. ‘Hello, Martin.’ Dahlia said, a trifle. A small television set sat on top of the audio equipment piled high on the cupboard. Every available inch of wall was covered with postcards and posters that reflected her present obsessions and quite a few that she’d had and had not yet wholly abandoned. As always, it was with some difficulty that she pushed open her door as it caught on the cigarette stained carpet which covered the floor, and ignored the stares of her nosy neighbour – a girl who Twelve disdainfully noticed was unfashionably. More

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